the lace didn't break. it became silk.

sometimes i act like i don’t care

because if i did, i’d collapse like lace in water 

fragile, soft, see-through.

but i learned something:

even lace can drown and come back shining like silk.

i walk in silence but my presence already speaks up for myself, smelling like vanilla sins and forgotten prayers,

and my presence stings like holy water on bruised egos.

i am soft, yes.

but softness doesn’t mean weakness,

because I can be cold when I want to

 don’t be fooled.

there’s steel under this blush.

they see what they lost 

and what they’ll never get again.